


Policy of Truth

by ImDoney



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Angst, Bitterness, Character Study, Denial of Feelings, Devotion, M/M, MGSV Era, One-Sided Relationship, Relationship Study, Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, not a pwp but there is sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImDoney/pseuds/ImDoney
Summary: It didn't take a genius to figure out why Snake asked him to come to his room at some insane hour in the morning.





	Policy of Truth

_Two plus two equals five_ , Ocelot thought, gripping the mattress of Snake’s bed harder. Snake— _John_ , Ocelot corrected himself with a wince at a hard thrust— had never been a gentle lover (unfortunately, he had no evidence to back up his claim), and that hadn’t changed. Ocelot’s back was marred with scratch marks, his ass red and splotchy, and although it made his heart go tight in his chest, his cheeks were wet and his tears stained the pillow underneath him. Snake had no trouble tearing the noises out of him, despite Ocelot’s self-control; it made him smug like their positions were reversed.

 

Snake’s real hand’s fingernails dug sharp crescents into his hip and his bionic hand cooled his flushed shoulder, mixing into a dizzying cocktail of pleasure. Ocelot was close. Without any warning, Snake leaned down and bit Ocelot’s neck, and sucked.

 

His skin throbbed under Snake’s mouth, and despite how close Ocelot was, he had the mind to furrow his eyebrows. It wasn’t like the recruits didn’t know about whatever Ocelot’s and Snake’s relationship was; on the contrary, an angry Miller had put a stop to that strain of gossip many times (however, on the flip side of the same coin, Miller stopped ( _true_ ) gossip about his own relationship with the Boss with much less vitriol). Perhaps that didn’t matter to the recruits— they didn’t idolize Snake any less, and one stern look was enough to shut up any childish giggling. Somehow, the hickey proved those rumors, never mind that he could have fucked anyone, that wouldn’t matter to the recruits. It would be decisive evidence, enough to confirm out loud what they had privately. Ocelot’s scarf wouldn’t even be able to cover it. On the bright side, that would make Miller jealous— the next time Snake went on a mission and they had to sit together and wait to answer if he needed them, Ocelot would pull down his scarf and Miller would bristle and fume.

 

After a few more thrusts, Snake came inside him (both were tested, and it wasn’t like either had much time to go fuck anybody other than each other— well, in the Boss’s case, him _and_ Miller) with a grunt. He hadn’t come, but his body relaxed like he had. Because he had just fucked Snake. His throat was so tight, he might vomit— he could just relieve himself when he showered. Yeah.

 

Ocelot sat up, then began the quick search of retrieving his clothes. The sound of a tissue being pulled out of box echoed in the room. He couldn’t wait to shower. Snake didn’t cuddle; no reason for him to linger.

 

Only after sex with Big Boss did the silence hang so thick in the air, a humid and heavy fog. With every inhale, there was the fear of choking. “Arrival time is at six tomorrow.” Ocelot shoved one foot in his pant leg, then the other.

 

Snake didn’t say anything, his own way of approval. He certainly never had been a man of many words.

 

The fog threatened to cradle his throat with its tendrils. “Wetwork. Nothing you can’t handle.” The shrill of his zipper ringed in the room, punctuating his words.

 

“You’re briefing me right now.”  Big Boss’s tone, harsh and rough, commanded Ocelot to _stop talking about the mission_.

 

Mission briefing, or silence?

 

“All on the cassette.”

 

Ocelot buttoned up his shirt, not bothering to tuck it in. Funny how one simple act could change how a person looked completely. It was late at night, anyway. Wasn’t worth it when he was just going to shower anyway.

 

He hadn’t bothered to take off his gloves. When they started, there was no time between getting each other in the bed and peeling off other layers. Ocelot put on his scarf, and he didn’t need a mirror to know he was right.

 

“You want me to call in Miller?” To break the silence. The thought of Miller made his blood run hot. Maybe he was a masochist— hah, he could add it to the list. If Snake were to say no, though, then—

 

That wasn’t why he asked.

 

“He wouldn’t be very happy.”

 

Ocelot’s boots were by the door, neat and straight. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Snake asked him to come to his room at some insane hour in the morning.

 

“I don’t know about that.” He cringed. Fully dressed, he stepped closer to the door. “I’ll go grab him.” Fuck. He was in too deep.

 

“You said it was wetwork?”

 

“Nothing you couldn’t handle.” Ocelot’s key card cut into his hand.

 

The acrid scent of Snake’s cigar filled the air. When Snake hopped out of the helicopter after a long mission, catching a faint whiff of it on his clothes when he walked by, the scent that clung to his own clothes after a night together; those were times Ocelot liked it.

 

“Sure.”

 

Today, it smelled bitter.

 

“I’ll talk to you about the mission later.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Dismissed.

 

Ocelot’s skin crawled, a million little bugs making a home on his body, so many that scratching could never take away the itch. He marched through Mother Base like the build up to a summer storm, promises bursting at the edge of the horizon. Shoulders stiff with exhaustion; rapidly waning erection that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, made him wish he was under scalding water already; Snake’s cum still inside him, hips sore and screaming when fabric scraped against them; hickey throbbing with the beat of his heart on his neck— _fuck_. His fists clenched at his sides; if only he didn’t know how much it would hurt to punch the uncaring steel.

 

He managed to get to Miller’s door. No recruits had seen him; the halls were deserted. He knocked, waited, knocked again. “Miller. It’s Ocelot.”

 

Silence. If he saw Miller with his dick in his hand or him passed out on his desk, it wouldn’t matter. He barged through the door— all access key cards were truly a wonder. The force of the act made one thousand little bugs die and fall onto the ground, made him huff.

 

Miller slowly looked up from his desk, stacks of paperwork engulfing him. His hair was unwashed, his skin shone greasily in the white light— the stench of nonstop work and strife clung to him like a terrified soldier and their rifle. The coffee machine gurgled, before letting out a sputter of death that told of a life of being used up until the bitter end. Miller poured himself a mug. “What, Ocelot.”

 

“Big Boss wants you.”

 

Miller’s eyebrows furrowed. Sleep deprivation did wonders to people. “Why would he—”

 

There was no time for stupid banter, stupid questions. “It’s what, two in the morning, Miller? Put it together.” His shower. His bed. The sooner Ocelot got there…

 

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask. Why would he want me after he just saw…” Miller paused to down his mug. He spat out his next words as if it filled him with disdain even to say them. “ _…you_.”

 

The words hung in the air, thick with longing for answers. Miller knew what Snake’s body felt like pressed against his, knew the overwhelming pleasure that came with each thrust. He knew the pain of walking back to your own room, alone. Forehead against the shower tiles as you jacked yourself off, thinking of no one but _him_.

 

“You better just ask him yourself.”

 

Miller cradled his face in his hands, his sunglasses pressed tight to the skin. He shook his head, then grasped for his crutch and unsteadily walked toward his bathroom. “Tell him it’ll be a while.”

 

He knew the fear of a combat alert during a mission, one rapid thought clouding your mind:

 

_I can’t lose him again._

 

“Sure.”

 

Two sides of the same used coin.

 

Ocelot left the room after the faint hiss of the shower seeped into the room. Kindness for kindness; Miller hadn’t mentioned _it_. He would put everything aside, just this once, only for the few minutes it took to relay the message.

 

The trek back to Big Boss’s room carried smoke, the scent clinging to Ocelot’s clothes until he could throw them off onto the floor of his room.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, first metal gear fic is done! I've only played tpp (up to mission 30 iirc?) so sorry if Ocelot and Kaz aren't written correctly. I love em but I don't have a good handle on them (sorta the point, I suppose).  
> -  
> I wasn't sure what to do with the venom snake thing, so I just ignored him lmao. I also had no idea what to tag this lmao, and what rating to give it. I think when most people look for E stories they just want porn, but hmm I'm not sure if it's too graphic for the M rating. Tell me what you think!  
> -  
> This is one of the only smutty things I've written... I just can't make myself write porn hahah. I hope the rest was okay. Please give me feedback and con crit! I'd like to improve as an author :)  
> -  
> Title is from the Depeche Mode song, "Policy of Truth"  
> -  
> Thank you for reading! And if you read this author note, thank you even more :)


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